A sly “would you like a taxi?” from a furtive looking Pakistani just outside the exit to Pearson International (Toronto). I like his style – he has parked himself underneath a sign warning visitors to ignore taxi touts. When I respond in the affirmative (we need a cab) he spins on his heel and beckons us to follow him inside, in the opposite direction of the taxi rank just metres away. So we ignore him and step into the frigid air and join a line of puffy jackets and faux fur collars.

India supplies the world with its cab drivers, our Pakistani tout notwithstanding. Our Sikh knows the building address we threw at him, and we are instantly assured we are in the right place. With no fuss at all he quickly pulls out from the kerb and spears into the night. It’s midnight and we have been travelling for twenty four hours. More actually. But I got about ten hours sleep across the Pacific so I am feeling pretty good given the distance travelled and time that has slipped under our keel. Read more